


If the heart breaks, does that mean there's no home?

by RussianSunflower3



Series: Inktober 2017 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Character Deconstruction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Kindaichi has a bad past, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Senpai to the rescue!, Starvation, The general warnings that come with past domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 02:06:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12244986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianSunflower3/pseuds/RussianSunflower3
Summary: In his second year, a girl had asked Kindaichi out. His naivety as a hopelessly romantic had prevented him from seeing the danger signs until he was in too deep, unable to escape.6 and a half years later, he'd been thrown out onto the streets like an unwanted puppy, with nothing to his name but his ragged, torn clothes. He was cold, he was starving, he didn't think he could make it much longer.Almost seven years aftershestole him away, he thinks October 2nd could be his last day on earth.Then a couple of friendly faces appear, and they build his heart a home.





	If the heart breaks, does that mean there's no home?

**Author's Note:**

> For Inktober 2017, with the prompts Big Sweater (Lanylevendula) and Vagabond (itzahann)!  
> Note that this contains heavy references to abuse, and Kindaichi may seem out of character as a result of that.

Things hadn’t been great for Kindaichi since before the breakup. 

In the last few days of his first year, he’d been swept off his feet by a girl in his class, and when _she_ had confessed to _him_ , despite all his flaws and lack of self-confidence, he had leapt at the opportunity and said yes immediately. 

Things had only gotten worse after the breakup, and he still wondered how he was so _stupid_ to get himself into this situation. He hated himself for it.

Looking back now, he wished he had seen all the warning signs.

_She_ had been manipulative. _She_ clung to him like a leech, pushed his friends away, guilt-tripped him into doing what _she_ wanted, at his own cost. He’d lost a lot friends early on. 

The team had stayed by his side for as long as possible, but all that had been for naught when _she_ convinced him to quit the club. It was the first day she’d physically hurt him. The first, but not the last. 

He had been too deep in it by second year, and after quitting the club and dropping out of school, he moved from the apartment his parents rented for him into his girlfriend’s larger apartment. The excuse had been to save his family money, and not being a burden on them ‘like he always was’.

It was the worst mistake he had ever made.

_She_ had stolen everything from him in the 6 and a half years he stayed - not willingly, not all the time. His heart, his home, his trust, his self-confidence. When he was cast asides unwanted at 22, he had nothing left. 

Nothing but tears, the clothes on his back, and regret. He could barely remember a time before _her_. Whenever he tries, all he remembered was the sessions of abuse - both physical, verbal, and emotional - and the way he had abandoned _everything_.

He wondered if he included himself in that list. Huddled on the street corner in nothing but a torn shirt, loose trousers, and a single sock with three holes in, he felt like he wasn’t even a person. Just- Just a waste. A thing people frowned down upon as they walked past in the quiet streets he roamed.

He was homeless, he was unemployed, he was _starving_. He had nothing. The lack of food - _Not allowed to eat, not allowed to eat until **she** says so, scraps on the plate and crumbs on the floor_ \- had left him skinny and shrunken. He wouldn't live much longer, he was sure. 

If his team could see him now, they wouldn’t believe he was once the imposing, lanky but well-built first year they once knew. He buries his face in his knees with snort, something reminiscent of a laugh, but sombre and self depreciating with tears in the corner of his eyes. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed. The last time he was happy… He doesn’t know if it was real. It was with _her_ , but…   
Had it all just been manipulation? Was he ever really happy, or was he bent to _her_ will? What- What did happiness feel like again?

“K- Kindaichi? Is that- Is that _you_?” He freezes. No…

No, no, no. Oh nononono. Tightening up into a little ball, he pretends like he hasn’t heard it, but he recognises that voice and the _horror_ in the voice nearly makes him shudder. He hadn’t wanted to be found. He hadn’t wanted to be seen! Not like this!

“Oh _shit_ , it is you… What happened? What- Holy shit, Kin…” A soft hand lands on his shoulder, soft like the whispered words, soft like compassion - _soft like “I love you, if you love me too, you’ll do as I asked.” and ‘reward’ kisses for good behaviour_ \- and he whimpers, biting into his bottom lip as he tries to hold back tears.

“No, no, no, I’m sorry! Shh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Hey, can you look at me? Kindaichi, look at me, please?” He’s spent too long listening and obeying and being a _good boy_ to stop himself, almost 7 years of obedience training and manipulation whispering that he’ll be punished if he isn’t good, if he doesn’t do as told.

He doesn’t expect Matsukawa to be so close, their noses almost touching. He doesn’t expect Matsukawa to be on the verge of tears too, crying for _him_ , and he wonders how bad he must look. 

Like a stray, he supposes. Tossed to the side of the road and abandoned because he wasn’t wanted anymore, wasn’t good enough. A vagabond, roaming the streets without a job, without money, without food… Without a home. 

Home is where the heart is, but Kindaichi feels like his heart was ripped out and torn to shreds when _she_ ruined him, then left the shattered shadow of what he used to be in a place he had no knowledge of. 

To save himself, he burnt what remained of his tiny, beaten and abused heart. He vowed not to trust, not to love, not to _feel_ ever again, but here he is looking Matsukawa in the eyes and hoping. He tears his gaze away to try and save himself once more, as much as he can.

“L-Leave me alone…” It’s small. Weak and small and there’s no power behind his words, just a tearful plea that quivers like his voice, like his hands, like himself.

“What? No, no, I can’t leave you like this, Kin, I can’t-... You look like you’re _dying_...” He feels like it too. He’s always cold and the approaching autumn winds bit at his skin through the holes in his clothing, seeping through the thin material and sucks away at his body heat like leeches. 

He’s always hungry - no, starving - scavenging from bins and eating rotten leftovers and anything edible people might drop near him. Even then, that’s only when he has the strength to move. The inevitable to bound to happen soon, if not today. That’s just externally. 

He feels dead inside too, because maybe, it’s easier to kill off any positivity that remains than to hope. He’d rather hate the world than be betrayed and hurt every time. He accepted help once, a month ago. He’d ended up a punching bag, just for fun. He feared that, even though he once upon a time _knew_ Matsukawa, the same would happen again.

“Leave me alone! Pl- Please! Just leave!” A warm palm presses against his cheek. It’s so… So _invitingly_ warm, he almost presses back into it and gives up his fight. But he knows what follows after tenderness. _She_ taught him that. He braces himself for the slap that’s bound to come.

“Don’t you recognise me…?” The wrong answer would mean instant, brutal punishment. The right answer would get him a ‘reward’, only for slow, drawn out punishment for his resistance later on. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how to answer because _are his punishments worse than **hers**?_

“I-... Go aw-way!” It’s better not to answer. He struggles, raising an arm to push Matsukawa’s hand away, and weak as he is, his former senpai lets him, holding up his hands in surrender as the 22 year old uses the wall to clamber to his feet, legs shaking at the exertion.

He’s _starving_. He’s starving and weak, and he has no strength left. He knew he should have eaten that rotten apple core from the park bins earlier. The maggots would have been extra protein, maybe just enough to make his escape. To run to the next spot along these streets that he can’t call home.

Instead, skinny and exhausted, he slips back down the wall to the floor. The grazes it leaves along his arm are nothing compared to the beatings he used to get. He barely feels them, even as blood wells up. He blinks away a tear of frustration, exhausted just from his efforts to stand. Matsukawa gawps at him with shock and pity.

“You’re d-dying…” Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, he thinks.

“Go… Away…” 

“I’m not leaving you. Not here, not now.” There’s a hardness in Matsukawa’s voice that has Kindaichi flinch. It reminds him of _”Why didn’t you do everything on the list?” and “Why did you look at that girl across the road?”_. It reminds him that he’s bad, that he’s not good, that he’s done something wrong.

“Issei! I got our cof- fees…” Another voice he recognises. Hanamaki’s voice trails off into silent disbelief. A cup hits the floor and rolls away, spilling hot coffee on the pavement. Kindaichi hates himself a little for how he wishes it was over him, because coffee is warmer than October. He’s so cold… So, _so_ cold…

“We’re taking him home, ‘Hiro.”

“M-Mhm. Definitely. D’you want me to contact the others?” Matsukawa almost says yes, but he hears a fearfully whispers ‘no…’ and sees the way the _skeletal_ figure in front of him tries to curl up again.

“Not yet. Let’s- Let’s just get him somewhere safe first.” Hanamaki nods, putting the other coffee on a nearby ledge, abandoning it just like how _she_ abandoned Kindaichi. His dull eyes stare at it as he’s scooped up, softly and gently. Like he _matters_. 

He’d scoff if he had the strength. He doesn’t matter. He’s a used, discarded item. A vagabond with nothing but the clothes on his back, his tears, and regret. The steam rising from the coffee blurs painfully, and Kindaichi closes his weary, tired eyes. 

This could be it, a voice in the back of his head whispers. He could die, right here and now.

Ah, he really doesn’t care anymore.

He doesn’t register the rushed footsteps Matsukawa takes, carrying him to the car park. He doesn’t register Hanamaki’s worried hand resting on his back as he jogs alongside. He doesn’t register being laid across nylon car seats, and engine starting, or the car heating on full blast. He doesn’t even register the hand gripping his own from the passenger seat, Hanamaki begging him to wake up, stay alive, _please_.

“What do we do, Issei…? He- He needs hospital…” Matsukawa grits his teeth, angry at whoever did this to Kindaichi, angry at the life he’s been forced to live, angry at _himself_ for not finding him sooner.

“I know. But you saw how freaked out he was. And that’s with us! He knows us. Imagine how panicked he’d be if he was swarmed with doctors and nurses who were strangers?” Hanamaki bites the inside of his cheek, gaze drifting back to the unconscious boy - because he still _is_ a boy, they could tell from the look in his eyes - in the backseat of their car.

“He’d have a heart attack.” He brushes a thumb over raw, bruised knuckles, skin torn from falling down and trying to defend himself, bones looking like they could break through at any moment from how _skinny_ he is. 

He needs hospital. He needs rehabilitation. But right now, he needs someone he knows, he needs friends. He needs them. Hanamaki doesn’t let go of his cold, limp hand until they get home, back to the 2 bedroom residence they share with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Thankfully, the duo are back in Miyagi for a family thing.

Matsukawa carries Kindaichi - oh so fragile, oh so _broken_ \- up to the bedroom, nestling him in the soft, warm bed closest to the radiator. It’s Hanamaki’s, not his, but he knows Hanamaki wouldn’t mind. He has a heart big enough for everyone in the world, and then some. Kindaichi - even though he’s gained a couple more centimetres from school - looks so _small_ in the bed.

“We’ll look after you, sweetheart…” Matsukawa’s good with children. He works as a social carer, taking children from dangerous homes and finding them families to love them, people who care and would keep them safe. At 22, Kindaichi might not legally qualify for a child, but he was only just _16_ when he’d been trapped in a web of lies, manipulations and deceit.

He was still 16, in Matsukawa’s eyes, because he hadn’t been given time to grow and mature and learn and find himself. He was 16, because that was when the world had been taken from him. Now, Matsukawa swears he’ll give it back.

He’ll give Kindaichi back that stolen world, by first giving him a loving, stable home with tons of support and love and warmth and _food_. That’s the first thing he needs, looking at his near-dead form. Gently, whilst Kindaichi is still asleep, he undresses him and swaddles him up in clothes from his own wardrobe, laying plenty of blankets over the top.

“N-Ngn…” He’s waking up. Slowly and quietly, Matsukawa moves to kneel next to the bed instead of sitting on the side, making sure he’s at Kindaichi’s eye level and non-threatening. He waits, and Kindaichi stirs. With a quiet moan that might be a whimper, he lifts a skeletal hand to rub at his eyes, and startles awake when he realises-

This isn’t the street pavement. _This is a bed._

“Am- Am I dead…?” 

“Not quite. Another day and you might have been.” He closes his eyes again. He knows that voice. And whilst he can’t really remember volleyball days, whilst he can’t _trust_ , he lets his guard down just a little. He hasn’t been hurt yet. Matsukawa could have been waiting for him to wake up, but Kindaichi’s _broken, beaten, discarded_ heart hopes, for all his tiny little heart can.

He wishes he didn’t, because the more he hopes, the more he’ll be shattered again. _She_ was proof was that, for all 6 and a half years.

“Hey… Try and stay awake, okay?”

“M’not ‘sleep.” A hand worms its way into his, giving the gentlest squeeze. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does a little, with all the bruises there.

“Takahiro’s making you some soup. I hope you like chicken noodles.”

“... Food?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m- I’m allowed?” Matsukawa’s heart cracks a little, the peaceful smile he’s painted on to try and soothe Kindaichi falling just a little. 

“Of course. You’re allowed anything you want.” Kindaichi’s eyes widen. No. No, it can’t be real. It _can’t_ be. _It’s a test, it’s a test, don’t say anything-_ everything he’s learnt cries, but something else, something that emerges whilst looking at Matsukawa, feeling his hand in his, feeling _kindness_ for the first time in…

Well, since he was talked and beaten into quitting club. They’d hugged him goodbye when he’d announced it. Told him to stay safe. Told him they were there for him if he needed anything, _anything_. The third years had left by then, but their then captain - _I can’t remember his name or face, I can’t remember much before that_ \- had reassured them the sentiment stretched to them.

Maybe they had known he was in trouble. Maybe that was their way of begging him to leave _her_. Maybe they’d been trying to protect him, 6 and a half years ago. The then-third years had hugged him, the first years had hugged him, the only other second year, his _best friend that he couldn’t remember the name or face of_ had hugged him tight and softly and lovingly. 

Matsukawa hadn’t been there. Matsukawa and Hanamaki and two others hadn’t been there. They’d left by then, off to college. They hadn’t hugged him, hadn’t offered him that safety blanket and protection. 

Everything about Kindaichi was on edge, screaming not to speak, but something - _something, somethingsomething_ \- rooted out that memory and he didn’t care if it was a test or not. He was allowed anything he wanted?

“A- A hug.”

“Hmm?”

“I want… I want a hug… Please. Am I allowed? A hug?” He squeezes his eyes shut, prepared for rejection, prepared for punishment. 

“Of course, baby.” Oh. _Oh_. It’s been a long time since he’s been called that. The last time he’d heard it, his mother had said “Stay safe, baby”, and he’d moved in with _her_. He hadn’t stayed safe. He’d never spoken to his mother after that. He didn’t know if she was still alive. 

The tiny, withered tendrils of his heart reach out towards Matsukawa, feeling that paternal tenderness. He wants a hug, he wants a hug so bad, he just wants to feel like he belongs, like he’s loved - not romantically, not ever romantically, never again- but loved, like someone cares.

“Shh, shh… It’s okay, it’s okay… You’re safe, Kin. You’re safe here. We’re here for you, okay?” He’s crying a little, he knows, but… He’s allowed. He’s _allowed_. Matsukawa helps him push back the blankets and duvet, and Kindaichi stares at his own torso, at his own arms.

“This- This isn’t mine.” The mustard coloured sweater hangs off him loosely, like a child wearing his dad’s clothing, and it just reminds him how _wasted away_ he is. It’s big. It’s huge. It’s comforting. Swallowed in this big sweater, he feels like he’s found a home. He doesn’t feel like a vagabond anymore.

“No, I’m sorry. You were so cold, I just- I had to put you in something else.”

“That- S’okay.”

“Still want that hug?”

“Yes please.” His tiny whisper, tiny like his starving frame, tiny like him in that big, mustard sweater, is almost inaudible. But Matsukawa is listening, more than Kindaichi has been listened to for 6 years, and opens his arms, shuffling up onto his knees and leaning forwards. 

He doesn’t move too far forwards, doesn’t envelop Kindaichi in a tight hug like he expected, but he waits, arms open, inviting Kindaichi to lean in when he’s ready. It takes a moment, exhaling slowly through chapped lips. 

Then, slowly, unsurely - _It’s a test, it’s fake, don’t fall for it, stupid boy_ \- Kindaichi shuffles onto his bony hip, weakly pushing himself up as much as can, and sags against Matsukawa, head on his shoulder, one arm dropped to the mattress and fingers brushing the side of Matsukawa’s shirt, the rest of his hand hidden beneath the oversized sweater.

His other arms slips from where he’d tried to put it over Matsukawa’s other shoulder, but his former senpai catches it and gently guides it back to his shoulder. Moving slowly and murmuring words of comfort so he doesn’t startle Kindaichi, Matsukawa wraps him up in the warm embrace, holding him close. 

It only takes a few second for Kindaichi to sob, so _touch-starved_ that the simple hug leaves him weeping, clinging on as much as can, for once not fearing leaving crinkles in clothes, not terrified that he might linger too long.

As far as he can tell, there’s no punishment here.

“Shh… Shh… You’re safe here… Let it out, Kin…” He does. He breaks down into full on bawling, burying his grimy, bruised face in Matsukawa’s shoulder as the older man strokes through his long, greasy and plain disgusting hair.

There’s no punishment here, there’s no punishment here, there’s _no punishment here_.

“Hey…” The soft voice from the doorway is Hanamaki slipping in slowly, announcing his presence so he doesn’t spook Kindaichi. He might love October as the month of Halloween, but there’s a time and a place for everything. Not here. It’s not here.

The tears calm down to sobs and whimpers as Kindaichi lifts his head just a little, sniffing as he picks up the most _amazing_ scent in the world. Hanamaki notices, smiling as he holds up the bowl of chicken noodle soup.

“Hope you’re hungry~.” Kindaichi’s stomach rumbles and his mouth waters in response, before he drops his head and hides his expression of excitement.

He can’t eat without permission, he has to let _her_ eat first, _she’s_ so kind to give him leftovers. The food is not his, he’s not supposed to slobber like a dog over it.

“What’s wrong? Do you want something else? If chicken noodle isn’t your thing, I can whip you up something else-”

“Takahiro.” Matsukawa shakes his head, and Hanamaki understands. He bites his lip before moving to sit on the edge of the bed, and Matsukawa shuffles around so that Kindaichi is instead sitting in front of him, hunched over, but at least the social worker is there if he falls backwards.

“Feel strong enough to feed yourself?” Nodding, Kindaichi hesitates to take the spoon Hanamaki holds out to him. His eyes dart warily from the spoon and bowl of soup nestled in his lap to Hanamaki’s face. He might have let his guard down, but there’s still those ticks and habits imbedded in his behaviour. He’s on edge, double checking everything as if he doesn’t believe it’s real.

How could he not? 6 and a half years of abuse does that to a person. He’s still partially convinced this is all just a dream and he’s dying, dying on the streets with not a soul in the world knowing. Maybe this warmth is a vivid illusion as his skin numbs and the frostbite steals his last breath.

He hopes it isn’t. He can’t say for sure that he’s _happy_ but this is the most loved and cared for Kindaichi has felt in years.

“Thank you for the food…” He hesitates again, spoon hovering above the surface of the soup, but then Hanamaki nods with an encouraging smile and that’s all Kindaichi needs to start _shovelling_ it down, desperate to finish as much as he can before some - before _she_ \- takes it away and leaves him longing for more.

“Woah, woah, woah! Easy there, Kindaichi! Don’t burn yourself!” That’s it, his time is over, he’s going to go hungry once more, and he drops the spoon into the bowl as he retracts his hands like he’s been electrocuted, holding them against his chest.

Instantly, Matsukawa wraps his arms around him and worms his hand into Kindaichi’s own, brushing his thumbs over the dry, cracked skin in comforting circles. He’s seen this so many times, in so many situations of abuse. He’s seen it in 5 year olds and 10 years olds, and he sees it in Kindaichi, technically 22 but barely 16 to the professional. 

“Shh, shh… Calm down, baby… He’s not going to take it away, okay? No one is going to take anything from you unless it’s dangerous, or you ask them too. It’s still there, you can still eat.” Kindaichi shivers, squeezing Matsukawa’s hands as Hanamaki leans in with a cloth to wipe the trails of spilled and splashed food off his chin and cheeks.

Glancing down, he realises with horror that he’s spilt the soup and a lone noodle over the big sweater Matsukawa lent him.

“I- I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-! Please don’t hurt me!”

“We won’t, we won’t, nobody’s going to hurt you, you’re safe.” As Matsukawa talks him down, tries to soothe him so he doesn’t shake and curl up and try to hide behind nothing, Hanamaki gently reaches out and cups his face with delicate, warm hands. His fingers brush rhythmically back and forth, and it’s like he’s found a secret button as Kindaichi tenses and then calms, almost instantly.

“How did you-... ‘Hiro, what did you do?”

“Secret~.”

“No, seriously, that was like _magic_.” Hanamaki shrugs, withdrawing his hands and passing the spoon back to Kindaichi as he uses the cloth to wipe the spilt food off the big sweater. The garment can wash easy enough, so it doesn’t matter too much.

“I walked in on him having a panic attack in the clubroom. Kunimi jogged past me, did the cheek thing and hey presto, he calmed down pretty quickly.”

“Ku- Kunimi…” They whip their attention back to Kindaichi, frozen in place, eyes wide.

“Kunimi… He’s my best friend… I- I forgot his name…” Sharing a concerned look over his shoulder, Hanamaki and Matsukawa move around so Kindaichi is wedged between them, sandwiched on the bed and surrounding by warmth and kindness and _love_. The near-empty bowl of soup sits on the bedside table.

“I forgot my best friend’s name, a- and his face… I don’t remember what he looks like… I’m sorry…” 

“You’ve been through a lot, sweetheart. Nobody’s expecting you to remember everything from before.” Kindaichi whines, holding back a cry as he hides his face in the crook of Hanamaki’s neck.

“But he was my best friend…” Matsukawa rubs his back in large, comforting circles through the thick material of the mustard coloured, oversized sweater.

“He still is. Never gave up hope you’d turn up somewhere.” There’s a tap-tap sound from Hanamaki’s side, almost falling off the edge of his single bed with the other two squished in it.

“I’ve got his Skype up here. Want to video chat him?” Kindaichi’s eyes widen. His mouth opens a little in a mixture of awe and apprehension. Hanamaki’s thumb hovers over the screen, but he doesn’t press.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He hides his face again. He plays with a loose thread of the sweater sleeve, rolling it between his fingers to distract himself. Before Matsukawa can ask if he’s okay, Kindaichi makes an uncertain, shy sound, before he speaks quietly.

“You- You said I was, umm… I was allowed anything, r-right…?”

“Yeah…? What is it, baby? What do you want?” A pause. Kindaichi fidgets.

“A- A shower… Please… I f-feel so dirty…” Locking his phone screen, Hanamaki puts it aside and rolls off the bed, standing up and offering his hands out to Kindaichi, helping him to sit up.

“We’ll get you squeaky clean~.”

“Actually…” They look at Matsukawa with completely opposite expressions, one curious with an amused tilt to his head, eyebrow raised, and the other shrinking away like he’s anticipating a strike or a hit or _something_ , like he expects to be told to leave and get out, thrown back to the streets. A little guilty at causing that expression, Matsukawa clears his throat.

“I’m going to pop to the shops. October 1st - 2nd sale. We need to stock up on medicines, and we should probably get you some clothes of your own, Kin.”

“O-Oh, umm… P-Please don’t waste your money on me… I’m sorry…”

“It’s not wasting our money, I promise. You were part of our team, you’re part of our family. Even when you find somewhere safe, somewhere you can call home, you’re officially family to us~.” Kindaichi tears up. As he wipes at them with the palms of his hands, Matsukawa makes three quick symbols with his hands.

Hanamaki nods, fully agreeing with what he’s saying. As well as going to the shops, Matsukawa is going to call Oikawa and Iwaizumi, to inform them of the situation before they arrive home tomorrow and get the shock of their lives, probably scaring their poor former kouhai in the process.

They have to be careful. They don’t know what could set him off, what psychological damage has been done, what trauma he’s suffered. They can guess, from the wounds and scars, but unless he tells them _everything_ , they’re not going to know how deeply he’s been broken.

“Come on, Kindaichi. I’ve got just the stuff to get all that grime out of your hair. We can get you a trim, maybe spike it up like you used to, yeah? I'm sure Oikawa has gel and spray to spare.” For the first time in a long, _long_ time, Kindaichi folds his hands in front of his lap shyly, and smiles with a softness that puts dimples on his smudged cheeks.

“I’d like that. Thank you.” Hanamaki holds the bathroom door open for him with a grin, putting a warm hand on Kindaichi’s back, providing support through the thick material of the big sweater.

A vagabond no more, Kindaichi’s heart has been given a home, and this time, it’s a place he’d like to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> Please Kudos and/or Comment~!


End file.
